Sing to Me
by OatAndRaison
Summary: Your body sings to me in a way that no other does; in a way that no other object or person ever could. Your skin calls out to me: the smoothness, the rippling of muscle beneath my fingertips, the feel of my lips gliding against and over every inch. Your eyes, crystal blue and bright, draw me in and leave me breathless.


**Sing to Me**

Your body sings to me in a way that no other does; in a way that no other object or person ever could. Your skin calls out to me: the smoothness, the rippling of muscle beneath my fingertips, the feel of my lips gliding against and over every inch. Your eyes, crystal blue and bright, draw me in and leave me breathless. I feel myself getting lost in them, drowning in them; as you speak, I forget the words that leave your mouth, instead I am tracing every intricate detail of your iris. The blues and greys mix like a cloud, and lightning bolts of colour flash inside them.

I never can forget the way that those eyes meet mine, every morning when I wake up and every night when you fall asleep.

It was evening when we had gone to bed; I had left the window open just slightly, as I so often do. You would complain of the cold and I would simply wrap you up in my arms. You tempt me to close it. You tell me that if I don't, by early morning the room will be cold and chilly, and you will be forced to put clothes on to sleep. I simply wrap my arms around you tighter and hold you close to my chest. The blanket becomes our shield from the cold, from the gentle wind from the window, from the storm brewing outside of our safe place.

But you are right, as you so often are, darling. It is cold when I wake up. I assume that it is now early morning; it is still dark outside. But there is no traffic. Just silence. The light from a streetlamp outside falls through the small gap in the curtain. It travels across the bed, over your stomach, lighting a patch of honeycomb skin that I now feel compelled to reach out and touch. The rain is falling; I hear it now. It pitter-patters against the window and against the puddles outside; against the windchimes in the front yard that you were adamant would stay there.

You've moved in your sleep, travelled to the other side of the bed and you are now stretched out on your back. But your warning to me was in truth; you left the window open, but sure enough, you put on clothing. I chuckle quietly in the room as I take in the sports bra and shorts – I am persistent in the idea that they look more like boxer briefs than anything else – that you have put on. They barely protect you from the cold at all. But of course, I won't complain. No. It only means that there is more skin for my eyes to drink in.

I roll onto my side and watch your face carefully. You lie undisturbed. Your eyes do not flicker beneath your eyelids. There are no traces of any conflict upon your face. Your lips rest in a gently smile. The temptation becomes too much for me to resist; I reach out with my hand and softly stroke the back of my knuckles against your cheek. A soft sigh escapes my lips. I stroke down to your jawline, where I turn my hand over and follow the curve with just my fingertips. I come to your lips, those beautiful lips, and my thumb just traces the shape.

I close my eyes and lean in. I press my lips against yours only gently; a slight puckering to bring them together. Despite the deep state of sleep I know that you are in at this current moment, I feel your lips move beneath my own. I feel them moving to follow the kiss and I smile against you. I pull back and watch your face again. You look so peaceful. So beautiful. A pleasing wonder to my eyes, who will never truly believe that you are lying right here next to me.

My hand reaches out to the rectangle of skin on your stomach highlighted by the light outside. I trace the line of where that light meets darkness on your skin. Your stomach lifts and falls gently with your chest. I watch my finger with interest as the line of that light touches the sports bra that you wear. I know that my fingers could so easily just slip beneath the elasticated fabric. I know that they could so easily seek out the treasure that lies beneath them.

I shuffle down the bed just a little, but enough to then follow that line of light with my lips and my tongue. A soft sigh, an almost inaudible sound, escapes your lips. I almost miss it. It almost drifts to the other side of the room with the breeze. But my ears, highly attuned to everything that is you, absorbs that sigh like a drug. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end; I feel my eyes darken ever so slightly, a shiver run along my spine to my legs.

I tease the skin beneath the elasticated material with my fingertips. I lean down and press a kiss against the skin just below it. I am no longer watching your face or your delicate features; I am losing myself in the excitement of finding what lies beneath. I have seen you naked many times before. Too many occasions to count. But your beauty never fails to leave my mouth dry and my lungs breathless.

I pull the elastic upwards just slightly with my thumbs. My lips work their way along your ribs, counting each consecutive one and each time, feeling blessed that the body that those bones belong to, is lying now beneath me, in bed. My mouth again reaches that elastic. My tongue snakes its way out of my lips and beneath the fabric. I can just feel the curve of each breast as my tongue reaches out to its full length. I can just taste the skin that lies beneath.

I hear you whisper my name softly, the air carrying the vibration to my ears. Your hands wind their way into my hair. At first they are just gentle. They stroke my hair softly and your nails rake softly against my scalp. But then there is a firmer tug. I allow your hands to find me and my lips end up against yours. This isn't the barely there kiss I gave before. This is something much more; deeper and more intimate. A lover's dance of tongues.

My legs move to straddle your thighs, my lips now much too lost against your own to seek out skin. But my fingers don't feel the same. My fingers teasingly glide along your sides, on a journey entirely of their own making, along each rib that my lips counted, until they can comfortable slip beneath the black material. They are met with two, firm handfuls of breast. I can feel your nipples, each one hard and strong against my palm. I knead gently. But as teeth nibble my bottom lip, I know that I need more.

My hands, still beneath the fabric, push upwards. You receive the signal. Your arms raise themselves. The material slides along them and then is discarded on the floor. Your eyes are open now. Even in the dim light I find myself mesmerised by the colour; ocean eyes. I know that I have a seemingly unwarranted fear of water. But I would surely drown in the ocean that is your eyes without any dread or anxiety.

You knock me from my thoughts, bring me back to the present, by lifting your hips off of the bed. The gentle grind, as slow a movement as it is, as soft as the fabric of your shorts is, rubs against my non-clothed self. It is enough to send a sharp spark of pleasure through my stomach. Enough to make me moan, make my eyes flutter shut. We create a rhythm like that, you grinding upwards, myself grinding down, those pools of blue watching me as my hips swirl against you, as my body seeks the release that it knows is so near.

It doesn't take me long. It never has. My hands clumsily reach down, finding your own and entwining with them tight as my body rides the waves of the tsunami that you have created. The first wave hits me hard, causing me to cry out. A mixture of a moan and your name enveloped together. Soon the crashes of waves become gentle sprays, a relaxing current rippling through me.

It takes me a few moments, but before long, my lips are once against upon yours. My hand works its way between us, down along your stomach, dipping into your navel and then to your pelvis, before it just slips into those short. They are met with immediate wetness. You moan only gently. You always have been one to show passion with movement rather than noise. You prove my point as your hips move against the bed and your legs part wider. Your left-hand clings to my back as the other one reaches down to fist a handful of soft flesh from my ass.

I can already tell that you're close; I can feel the pulsating against my fingers as they stroke over your clit. Your lips break away from mine. You're panting now, your chest rising and falling at an ever-increasing pace. My lips move to your breasts where I suck one nipple into my mouth. My tongue wraps around it tight before sucking hard and fast for long moments. With each suck, comes a swift stroke of my fingers against you. I bring you higher and higher, stroke faster and suck harder. I can feel your body reaching for its release.

And then you tumble over the edge.

Your head tilts back on the pillow, your hair a messy halo around your head. I keep stroking but only softly, drawing out your orgasm and allowing my eyes to take in your blissful, post-coital beauty. There is a thin sheen of sweat covering your skin, despite the biting breeze, the early morning air. I can't help but chuckle to myself once again as your eyes open to meet mine.

Perhaps the bra and shorts are enough to stave away the cold after all.


End file.
